Rules
by muchmadness
Summary: It's a 'Lindsay's Past' story, and I know, I know, the secret's out. But I can dream, right? DL, naturally. Formerly "It All Came Rushing Back." The new title makes like twelve hundred times more sense. You'll see why later. If you read it.
1. Chapter 1

_OK, so I've been writing a lot of these stories lately. The whole damsel in distress thingy (if thingy were a word, would it be with a y or with an ie? Think about it… Wait. It's a word, isn't it? Screw it; I digress) but it's my reaction to the television. I can't stop! I'll try to work in some subtle feminism things. I promise._

* * *

She'd felt like a fifties movie star when she'd left, with her scarf around her head, the hot wind warming her face. _The convertible was a good choice, _she'd thought, her left hand lazily drifting in the air resistance on the side of the car. _And thank god it's a reasonable color. _She'd smiled as her attention was once again drawn to the candy apple red exterior of the Ford Mustang.

Her brother had given it to her to drive to her new home. He'd been preparing for a move to Albany, and she'd decided she would be able to get a train to New York from there.

She'd been able to feel her past on her back still, pressing and pushing and tearing her mind away from the road ahead. She'd thought that it would disappear, evaporate, and all the healing bones would become whole again the second she 'got the hell out of Dodge,' but she still felt it. And it never left her, which frightened her more than the possibility of her past's return. It shook her and rocked her from the inside, and every time she saw a dead dog or a flash of bleached blond hair, her world was a tornado.

It was the perfect plan, or, it had been until it failed. She'd saved money in a jar buried under her favorite tree, filed for a transfer in complete secrecy, and hadn't told a soul except for her brother on that last day. Her brother wouldn't tell anyone. She knew that. Partially because he was locked up in a mental institution, with his bright red car and his favorite slippers, but also because he loved her, and he understood, even if nobody else did.

She recalled the conversation with the utmost clarity, reveling in her unspoken understanding with him.

"_Sammy__, I've got to get out."_

"_Why?"_

"_It happened again. I have money. I need the car."_

_His head had turned, and he'd looked her in the eye, something he hadn't done in years. He smiled. "I'm so proud of you." And he'd handed her his keys – put them in her hand and curled her fingers around them. The metal was warm from his pocket, where the keys had rested since the day he got the car, seven years earlier. She shook her head, but he'd curled her fingers tighter around them, until the metal started to cut into her hand. With a smile and the closing of a one way door, she'd gone._

She wished that Sam could visit her, now that she was wrapped in the same color sheets as he – too white and too starchy. She stretched her feet out in front of her and lay back, working her bruised ribs up on the pillow behind her.

She might leave it all behind again, running like she'd been taught. Maybe to Russia. Her great-grandmother had been Russian – a wrinkled prune of a woman with withered skin that looked like paper but felt like silk.

"_You go to zee Urals," Lindsay had been told time and time again, "vere zee blood ees cold. These men, here, they are hot. Hot blood ees bad. Your mother, she knows this. You must not make same meestake. You go vere zee blood ees cold."_

Lindsay hadn't followed the advice so well, a fact which she regretted more than she'd ever admit to. Then again, her grandmother had been crazy. She used to eat raw shrimp smothered in peanut butter and walk through the house naked. But she knew men, and how they worked.

_Russia might be nice, _Lindsay thought, picturing herself wandering through the streets of Moscow, a Russian phrasebook in her hand. She knew no Russian, though, which she supposed would be a problem.

She was seeing snowy mountains and planning on picking up a copy of Doctor Zhivago when the door slammed open, and she found herself staring a stunned and confused Danny right in the eyes.

* * *

If you didn't get that, it's a Russian-accented voice saying "You go to the Urals (a mountain range in Northern Russia) where the blood is cold. These men, here, they are hot. Hot blood is bad. Your mother, she knows this. You must not make the same mistake. You go where the blood is cold."


	2. Chapter 2

_I had the US History AP today, so if this doesn't make sense, blame it on that._

* * *

He had bewildered eyes. That was what hurt her the most when she told him she wasn't pressing charges. It was like he was going to throw a chair out a window or take her in his arms and kiss everything away – he just couldn't decide which to do. His hands were curled into the hem of his shirt, crinkling it. Lindsay's first thought was only _and that's my favorite shirt of his, too, _and the thought made her regret her decision. What she realized would hurt him more was that she would never tell him what happened. She had a **firm resolve**, bold letters and everything, and no amount of kissing and holding and loving could ever tear it out of her. She made up her mind. She had no desire for him to know. It was her problem, no one else's, and she could fix it just like she'd created it.

"Ya gotta be kiddin' me," Danny said. His voice was raspy, and she felt the hurt burning beneath the words.

She shrugged, then immediately regretted it when pain burned in her ribs. It must have shown on her face, because Danny turned out to the hall and motioned for the nurse to come in.

The nurse was a busy woman, with tendrils of worried hair popping from strange angles on her head. She looked like she was recovering from electric shock.

She glanced at Lindsay, and wrinkled her nose. "We can't do anything. She's refused pain medication."

"She did what now?" Danny asked quickly.

The nurse gave him an apologetic look, and turned to leave. Danny whispered something to her, and she nodded and walked off.

Lindsay suspected him, but said nothing.

"At least file an incident report," Mac said. Danny nodded hopefully.

Lindsay shook her head.

"Why?"

"It's a private matter."

"Are you in danger?"

"It's a private matter."

"Are you embarrassed? 'Cause you got nothin' to hide from us, Linds," Danny said carefully.

"I just want to go home, guys, OK?" Lindsay said, blinking the tears from her eyes as she looked away. She grabbed her clothes and looked pointedly at them, indicating she wanted privacy. _In more ways than one, _she thought.

Mac sighed and left the room. Danny took longer, watching her eyes carefully. She blinked quickly, looking away. She knew he could see if she was sad. She would, under no circumstances, let him see her like that. Not with what she was hiding.

She changed relatively slowly, but, considering the amount of pain her ribs were in, she did well enough. _I hope you appreciate this, _she thought forcefully.

She walked out of the room and headed for the front desk, brushing past Mac and Danny. She tried hard to ignore the fact that her clothes were still damp from the rain. Danny and Mac stared at her as she walked past them. She pretended that the cause for their confusion was due to their anger, and their hate. It was hard. She knew that they were staring at the limp in her leg, the startlingly white bandages on her arm, and the lump in her shirt where the medical tape protruded. She knew they were worried, and they were sad. But she couldn't fix that.

She signed out of the hospital with a shaky hand, and moved out the door. She felt warmth behind her, and whipped around. _Ow, _she thought, but all sound from her throat was blocked by the blinding pain.

Danny stood behind her, looking at her guiltily.

"What?" She gasped, using anger to cover the jolts of her ribs.

"I'm comin' home with you."

"No you're not."

"I gotta. I'll sleep outside your door if you want me to. But I ain't leavin' you alone."

The blood in her veins warmed, and her brain was mush. She loved him so much that she couldn't face it, but still. There was the whole dirty lying bastard thing. And the –

"Fine. But you don't get to talk to me."

He nodded. They proceeded out the door, Danny tailing Lindsay so close that she could feel his the wind from his footsteps on the backs of her falling feet. She headed for the subway exit when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Danny held up his notepad, showing her the scribbled writing. _Let me drive you._

"Drive yourself. I don't care. I like the subway."

He hastily retracted the notepad, and scratched out a second comment. _Please?_

A passerby brushed past Lindsay, sending shock waves up from the bottoms of her feet through to her head. She couldn't argue with him amidst the torment of pain, so she nodded and headed for the department car.

Danny helped her in before she could say anything, he placed one hand on her hip to steady her and the other created a bar for her arm to hold. He buckled her seatbelt, leaning over her far enough so that their skin never touched.

Once he got in on his side, he turned all the heating vents to her side and blasted them at her, pointing at her damp clothes. He gave her such a cute little _see how smart I am? _look that she had to grin, just the slightest bit. But then she suddenly remembered the throbbing bruise on the left side of her mouth. She brought her hand up to it, touching it gently.

If Danny noticed the grin or the wince of pain, he said nothing, for when Lindsay looked back over at him, he was concentrating on merging into the traffic outside the hospital. However, Lindsay couldn't help but notice the little white and orange cylinder of Vicodin in his pocket, prescribed to a "Lindsay Monroe."

He caught her staring at the pill bottle when they were turning onto Lexington. At the next red light, he grabbed the notepad and scribbled a note, which he gave to her before staring back ahead.

_Let me know if you hurt bad – nurse said I could give you 1 or 2 evry 4 to 6 hours._

"You spelled every wrong. It has a second 'e' in it."

Danny chuckled, threw her a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

When they arrived at Lindsay's building, she got out of the car and walked to the elevator. She found the sign posted there to be the worst sign in the entire world, not only for its terrible spelling, but also for its ramifications.

"_Elevater Broken. Pleas use stairs."_

Lindsay almost cried.

Danny came up behind her, his eyes squinted as he read the sign. He shoved his glasses up his nose with one hand and looked at Lindsay. He then pulled the notebook out of his pocket and wrote another note. Lindsay stood and watched him.

_I can carry you up the steps if it'll help. You'll move less._

"No."

More hurried scratching of the pen.

_I swear I won't make it uncomfortable. Pretend I'm a robot._

"Just don't look at me while you do it, OK?"

Danny nodded and held out his arms. Lindsay explained that she couldn't raise her arms very high because of the bruises on her ribs, so Danny bent down and carefully arranged her in his arms, one arm under her knees like a chair, the other right above her butt.

They both knew why Lindsay didn't want Danny looking at her. She had too many memories of sitting in his arms while he'd stared at her, his fingers wandering, his eyes locked on hers. They'd had hours of conversation with those looks. Not to mention, the majority of the times Danny had picked Lindsay up, they had been naked, or very close to it.

Danny kept his eyes straight ahead, watching only the stairs that led up to Lindsay's door. Once on her floor, he put her down slowly, placing her feet on the carpet and holding her upright until he felt her stand by herself.

She thanked him cordially and opened her door, walking carefully and slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny suggested that she go right to bed. She agreed, creeping to her bedroom and pushing back the covers with slow, forced movements. She stared at the bed, working out in her mind the actions she would need to take to get herself into it. She chose to ignore what a chore it would be to get out in the morning. Finally, she discovered that if she bent her knees and rolled slightly, she'd be lying perfectly straight in the bed.

She lay there, quite pleased with herself, until she realized that she was freezing cold and fully clothed, shoes and all. But she would not call Danny, because every tiny action he made, every breath that came out of his mouth, eroded her **firm resolve, **and God forbid she tell him what happened. Or about the other thing.

The nurse called later with blood results, on Lindsay's cell phone. She still had it in her pocket, a fact she was not aware of until the tinkling sound of her ringer awoke her from the chilled, shivering, nearly asleep mode she was in. The nurse told her things she already knew, didn't need to know, and she snapped the phone shut and placed it back in her pocket.

The tinkling sound and the snap of the phone brought Danny in to check on her. He took one look at her, lying prone and shivering on the bed, and sighed heavily.

He gave her a glare when he got to her. He pulled off her shoes gently and set them on the bed beside her. Then he went to her closet and found her favorite sweats. He placed them on the bed beside her and mimed covering his eyes. Lindsay barely suppressed a giggle. He kept his eyes shut as he undid the button on her jeans and peeled them off her goose-bumped flesh, quickly replacing them with the sweats. He moved back up to her torso and unzipped her light jacket, easing her arms out of the sleeves and folding her jacket and placing it on her chair.

Then came the awkward part. For her, not for him. He executed his procedures methodically, medically, because he knew that the bra straps would cut into her sore ribs while she slept. So he glided his warm hands up under her shirt, touching her skin only when absolutely necessary, and unsnapped her bra. He wove it out of her shirtsleeves, off of her arms, and pulled it out from under her shirt. He moved it aside. He didn't know it, but with every touch of a finger, every sweep of a palm, he set her entire body alight with warmth and heat.

He didn't know how much she wanted him to touch her, to hold her and kiss everything away, because he didn't realize he was the only one who held that power. She watched him with simmering eyes, on fire with anger, but passion, too.

He finished by covering her lightly with the comforter, then disappearing into her closet. He emerged with a heavy quilt, which he spread out with a dramatic swoosh and laid out on top of her. He tucked it into the sides of her bed with dramatic flourish. Then he pulled out his trusty notepad and wrote her:

_Next time call for me, Monroe. _

"I was fine, thank-you-very-much," she said icily. But her insides were melted, hot mush.

He shook his head with a grin, and wrote: _Sleep tight. Call if you need me. I'm on the couch._

Then he kissed the top of her head. She wished to swat him away, but settled for glaring at him. He backed away, smiling cockily, and went to the living room.

He wrapped himself in a sheet, kicking his shoes off the end of the couch, and dreamed of Lindsay. Her eyes, her neck, her feet, her arms, her lips, her teeth, her nose, her smile… until his entire mind was filled with her. His eyes snapped open when he could think of her no longer, and he threw off the sheet and headed for the kitchen.

He got himself a glass of water to cool off. What he _really _would have liked to do was punch something. A wall, a punching bag, a stranger. Preferably the guy who'd hurt the woman he loved. He knew she loved him back, even if just a little bit. He felt like he was sustaining whatever feelings she had for him, fanning the simmering flames of her emotions with nearly useless waves of his hands.

He chugged the water, breathing as he gulped it down. He couldn't leave her in this apartment, not even to go into the hallway and have a little battle with the wall. That was what he needed – a nice, bloody, broken hand.

He put the glass in the sink and found his way back to her room, watching her breathe. He could barely detect the motions of her chest through the layers of blanket he'd piled on top of her. He surveyed the room, looking for an excuse to stay longer. He found it – an unlocked window on the other side of her bed. How did he let that go? He'd been on a locking frenzy since coming back from the hospital, checking windows and doors.

He walked over to the window and pulled it shut, snapping the lock with a satisfying click. But what if someone broke the glass? He wasn't even sure what kind of criminal they were looking for. Lindsay had said nothing of what had happened. He'd been able to guess with the fist shaped bruises that dotted her stomach, and the finger marks of bruising over her mouth. But he had no clue, besides what the doctor's report had indicated.

So he stared at the window, willing some guy to creep up the fire escape and try to sneak into this room.

He satisfied himself with the knowledge that he'd hear a disturbance. And Lindsay would yell, if the situation called for it. So Danny was able to sink into uneasy, hyperaware sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

He awoke before her. He crept into her bedroom to make sure she didn't need him. She was breathing slowly still, and hadn't moved much since the night before. He took the pills out of his pocket and set them on her bedside table in case she needed them when she woke up.

He headed for the kitchen and whipped up some French toast for her. He cut up some strawberries and jumbled them on top of the bread, welding them together with syrup and powdered sugar. He got some cinnamon out of the pantry and got her a glass of orange juice. He balanced it all on a tray and walked slowly into her bedroom.

She was gone from the bed. He would have been frightened, what with the sheets thrown back so haphazardly and the pillow astray, but he heard her coming from the bathroom with slow, almost dignified steps. She was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand absentmindedly, her eyes distracted by the solitary ray of sunlight trickling in through her window. When she looked up, she found him staring at her.

"What?" she snapped.

He held his hands up in self defense, grinning at her. As some sort of glittery peace offering, he held out a fork and knife, jerking his head towards the breakfast.

"Not hungry," she grumbled, ignoring her warm feelings towards him for the offer.

He put the silverware down and put his hands together as though begging her.

She shook her head and sat back down on her bed.

He crawled over on his hands and knees and knelt before her, placing his clasped hands on her knees, his face a perfect, imploring pout.

She laughed, quick and unexpected, and his face lit up. She quickly brought herself back to nonchalance and took the fork. She took little bites, the taste of vomit still lingering in her mouth, though hidden under the gallons of mouthwash she'd used to get it out.

He made sure she ate at least half of it before letting her push it away. It was her favorite food. She used to wake up to it and kiss him for it until he couldn't breathe, suffocating him in the most fantastic, sugary maple way. Something was wrong with her; he had to figure out what. He peered into her eyes as he took the plate, searching for some clue that might point out what was ailing her.

He found them dull and hazy. Her hair was limp, her hands docile. He pulled out his notepad.

_Are you feeling OK?_

"I'm fine. I'm tired, though. Leave me alone. And stop asking me that. You always ask that."

He nodded and took the tray, smiling at her as he left. He finished the French toast himself, sitting pensively at the tiny table in her kitchen. After he licked the fork clean he wondered if she'd done the same, wanting to feel some kinship with her. He let go of it with a resounding clang, hating himself for feeling so foolish. She kept pushing him out with these stupid rules of hers. No talking. No asking if she was OK. How was he supposed to beg her for forgiveness if she kept shoving him away?

He washed the dishes, opting to soap them up himself as opposed to the dishwasher. He needed time to think.

He cleaned up her apartment and fixed the leak in her sink. He threw out the cartons in her fridge that were no more than a day over their expiration date. He cleaned the cupboards and the pots she probably would never use.

When he'd finished, he could do nothing more than collapse in a fit of exhaustion on her couch. He flicked on the TV only to be distracted by a noise to his left.

She stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and shuffling her feet towards him.

"You don't have to be here," she groaned as she eased herself onto the couch.

His only reply was a hand outstretched, reaching to her. She took it with an iron grip and used it to slowly recline herself on the couch. He heaved himself up and fluffed the pillows behind her, turning her lengthwise on the couch and pulling her feet into his lap.

He placed the remote into her hand and waited.

She eyed him warily before flipping through the channels. She found a piece on the history of gummy bears, and wiggled her way into the couch.

He rubbed her feet while she watched. She said next to nothing to him, but all he needed were the barely suppressed moans and fluttering eyelids as he massaged her feet.

He had to leave her at four. He made sure Stella could babysit her before leaving, and gave his colleague a lecture on do's and don'ts of Lindsay-care.

"Danny, I know. We'll be fine," she said finally.

He grinned. "Yeah, just feels good to talk."

Stella laughed. "She's got you on mute? How'd she do that?"

"Dunno," he said, and reminded her to lock the door carefully behind him.

At work, he ran the samples a nurse had collected from her fingernails at the hospital. He shouted and threw his pen fiercely at the wall when he realized there was not a sufficient DNA match.

He finally chose to read through her recent case files, specifically that which she'd been working the day of the attack. There was nothing significant, nothing that reached out to slap him on the face with its clear connection. Her last case had been a robbery at a bookstore, run by people with no criminal record, of middle class and no apparent reason to beat Lindsay so badly that walking was a feat for her.

When he got back, she was asleep, and Stella was antsy and bored on the couch. He relieved her of her duties, thanking her profusely.

He settled down in his makeshift bed after checking on her and locking everything twice. He still worried about that window in her bedroom, the one too close to her bed. He finally gave in to his preoccupations and slept in the corner chair of her bedroom, legs splayed in front of him, sheet wrapped around his middle.


	5. Chapter 5

_If anyone on this site has taken the AP Physics test, then they know why I am dead inside. On other note:_

* * *

She watched her knees as she peeled them off the tile, the gravel indents marking the flesh. She flushed the toilet, watching the water swirl away her typical deposit of vomit. She shuffled to the sink and grabbed the extra toothbrush she'd bought to deal with this new phenomenon.

As she watched her mouth foam up, she lifted her shirt to stare at the bruises. They were healing nicely, turning a lovely pale green. She and Stella planned to go to the doctor's to get checked out.

A knock on the door brought her head up quickly. She spit in the sink and washed out her mouth.

"What?" she called.

Danny opened the door and handed her a note.

_Leaving for work. Stella's in the kitchen. I come back around nine tonight. Need anything?_

Lindsay shook her head, then held up a hand in thought. "Grab some dishwasher soap. I'm all out. And peaches. Lots of peaches."

Danny smirked and scribbled her another note with a pen from his pocket.

_Not yer slave._

"So? I need peaches. Actually, I'd love some right now. Maybe Stella and I can go get some."

Danny grinned and nodded. He wrote her another message.

_I'll pick some up anyways. Be careful. See you tonight. Call me if you need me._

He waved and left.

Stella was rummaging through the fridge when Lindsay came into the kitchen. Stella gave a small smile and hugged her tightly. "How've you been, kiddo?"

Stella had been the one to find Lindsay, sprawled and bloody in the alley adjoining the crime lab. Stella's heart had stopped; her feet had ceased to walk. Lindsay looked dead, completely prone on the asphalt. Stella had had no idea of what to do, brought back to the image of a thousand dead bodies she'd seen in the past. Finally, she'd snapped into motion, cleaning Lindsay's cuts, checking her pulse. Since then, Lindsay had responded to no one, spoken of it rarely, made no attempt to reach out.

"I'm fine. Let's go get peaches," Lindsay said quickly.

Stella stared at her. "Honey, what are you talking about?"

"I'm starved for some peaches. Let's go!" Lindsay grabbed her purse and headed out the door, snagging her keys on the way. Stella had no choice but to follow her.

Lindsay breezed past the people on the sidewalk, wary of her sore ribs, and headed for the grocery store at the corner. Stella followed a few steps behind.

When the got inside the store, Lindsay grabbed four peaches, shoved them into a bag, and headed for the checkout counter.

"Didn't Danny say you need dishwasher soap, too?" Stella asked.

"Not important. I need peaches."

"I can see that," Stella whispered under her breath, watching as Lindsay shifted from foot to foot in the line, urging the customer ahead of her in the "10 Items or Less" line.

"I hate this line," Lindsay groaned.

"Why?" Stella asked, her voice hiding a laugh.

"It's always slow anyways. And plus, it's not grammatically correct."

"What are you talking about?"

Lindsay's turn had arrived, and she shoved the bag of peaches in the cashier's face. "It should be ten items or _fewer," _she said, punching the 'fewer' by shoving a hand into her purse for her wallet.

The cashier and Stella exchanged glances. Lindsay paid and brushed out of the store, a hand already in the bag searching for the best peach.

"Sorry about that, she's not from here," Stella said apologetically to the young cashier. She chased after Lindsay, who was sitting on a bench outside the store with the lower half of her mouth obscured by a giant peach. Her eyes were closed, and yellow peach juice ran dribbled down her chin.

"What was that?" Stella asked, a little dazed.

"I needed peaches," Lindsay mumbled around a mouthful of sweet juicy pulp.

"I know," Stella said. "OK, we should go. Your appointment is in a half an hour, and it's up in Morningside Heights. Hop up," she said, and pulled Lindsay by her arm. Stella hailed a cab and they hopped in.

While they spent the afternoon in a waiting room, Danny, Adam, and Hawkes spent their time digging into Lindsay's past.

Danny worked through old cases from Montana, checking the names of suspects and comparing their crimes with what happened to Lindsay.

Hawkes worked on her cases in New York, calling around to see if any criminals with a vendetta against her had been released.

Adam had the worst job – to search through her private life, checking bank accounts, doctor's reports, and phone records.

"Guys, this isn't right," he said for the seventh time. He'd just found out that Lindsay had gotten an appendectomy when she was eight. "I feel like I'm stalking her or something."

"Deal with it," Danny grunted, "It might help her."

Sheldon sighed. "Adam, the answer to who hurt her could be anywhere. We can't ignore parts of her life because they seem too mundane or private."

Adam frowned and went back to her records. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages. "Guys I think – I think I got something." His hands skittered over the files on the table, searching for the one he had in mind. He found it quickly and flipped through it, his eyes darting from the screen to the paper.

"Watcha got?" Danny asked, sliding his chair over to Adam's computer.

"There were seven police reports filed from her address, starting when she was about five."

"Domestic disturbance?" Sheldon asked, looking up from his file.

Adam nodded. "All concerning a … James Morgan. Married Lindsay's mother around that time."

"Did he …" Danny's voice sounded strangled, "was Lindsay hurt?"

Adam shook his head. "It looks like the mother was the only victim. She's got four hospital visits."

"So he never actually hurt Lindsay?" Hawkes asked.

"Doesn't look like it," Adam said, scanning Lindsay's hospital records.

"Then it wouldn't have been him," Hawkes said pensively.

"We don't know that for sure," Danny said slowly, "I can't believe she never told us."

"It's not something you talk about," Adam said quietly.

Danny nodded his apologies and got up to phone Stella.

When Lindsay came out of her examination, crumpling up her test results, Stella stood there, snapping her phone shut. Stella was silent all the way through the elevator, during the cab ride, helping Lindsay up to her apartment.

Finally, when the two of them were sitting comfortably watching _Gone with the Wind,_ Stella mustered up the courage to ask.

"Linds, can I run something by you?"

"Sure," Lindsay mumbled through some popcorn.

"Was it your stepfather that did this?"

Lindsay dropped the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. The popped kernels spread out in a spiral pattern, still wiggling from their fall.

Stella cleared her throat. "It's just a theory, but if you could verify it, then we could have some guys pick him up …"

Lindsay shook her head. "No, it wasn't him."

"Then who-"

"How did you know about him?"

"Linds, you have to understand, we're investigating your assault, and I told them to look into every –"

"So you researched me? You looked into my past? Stella, that's not right. I never said you could. You know I'm not pressing charges. It's a private matter."

"Honey, -"

"Drop it, Stell."

When Danny came through the door, Lindsay was sleeping in her bedroom already. Stella was sitting solemnly at the table in the kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee.

"What did she say?" He asked, putting the bag of peaches he'd bought in the fridge.

"She said it wasn't him. I believe her. She was pissed about us knowing. We really hurt her."

"If she won't talk, it's our only option," Danny said tiredly, and slumped into a chair beside her.

Stella sighed and stood, grabbing her purse from the table. "I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

Danny nodded. He went in to check on Lindsay once Stella left, and covered her up with the covers she'd managed to push away. He kissed her forehead and brushed back her hair, whispering to her that he loved her. He knew she couldn't hear him, but it was nice to pretend.


	6. Chapter 6

"How is she?" Stella asked as she placed the pictures of Lindsay's bruised flesh back into their file folder.

"She's alright, I guess. Considering," Danny responded.

Stella nodded.

"Something's up. Something else she won't tell us."

"What do you mean?" Stella asked.

"She's moody, practically bipolar. Sometimes she'll hug me and want me to stay with her, sometimes she'll shove me away. I don't get what I'm doin' wrong. And then she's pale all the time, and she she's always –" He frowned, and stopped.

Stella looked at him quizzically. "She's always … what?"

He shook his head. "It's nothin'."

"Danny, you'd better tell me what it is."

"I dunno," he said slowly. "I mean, she's thrown up at least three times in the past couple of days, that I've noticed, anyways, and –"

Stella gasped. "Danny, she wouldn't be … I mean, whose?"

Danny blinked. "Mine."

"Are you sure?"

Danny looked at her with wide eyes.

"She told me what you did with Rikki," Stella said, blushing.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"But still – it's Lindsay. She doesn't go for the whole 'eye for an eye' kind of thing."

"Fuck for a fuck?" Stella asked with a sheepish grin, "Yeah, I can't see her doing that."

"What do I do?"

"Ask her."

"I'm not allowed to talk."

"Well then write it. Tastefully. Don't be abrasive about it. She's probably scared of what you'll say."

"She shouldn't be," he said softly.

Stella patted him on the shoulder gently. "I know," she said, and took the file folder into the evidence locker.

Danny sighed.

When he got home, Lindsay was sitting on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her. She was watching him carefully.

"What?" he asked warily. He slapped a hand over his mouth apologetically.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she mumbled. "It's OK if you talk tonight. I'm not mad."

"Rule number one repealed?" he asked with a grin.

"Temporarily," she said.

With a groan, he slumped onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "How was your day?"

"Fine," she said. She _couldn't_ tell him what she really felt. She couldn't tell him how incredibly sexy he looked in his tight white t-shirt. She'd bought it for him, two weeks before Ruben. She couldn't tell him that the strip of skin showing above the waistband of his pants was making her pant.

It wasn't just him, although he was the one she wanted the most. She'd been lusting too much lately. She bought a copy of People magazine, and had thumbed through the pages, eyes widening at the "Stars at the Beach" section, where countless famous men had been caught with their shirts off and their shorts low.

This wasn't supposed to happen to women. She knew guys used porn magazines; she'd had a boyfriend with an all-too-large collection prominently displayed on his bedroom shelf. She'd caught Evan beating off in the bathroom way too many times, a glossy picture of some naked blonde in his lap. But she hadn't heard of girls doing it. She knew they did, but Lindsay Monroe was not about to go into the bathroom with a picture of a naked Brad Pitt.

Danny was the worst. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? And obvious, too. He'd splay his legs wide while he watched TV, walk around in his wifebeater shirts, and he had a seriously annoying habit of taking his clothes off while walking to the bathroom to shower. And he always slept nearly naked, no matter the weather. Boxers, or maybe some sweats at the most. She knew he could take even the coldest weather, because she'd come to learn firsthand that his skin was like a furnace at night, keeping her warm while he wrapped his body around her.

"You get around OK?" he asked, breaking her out of a longing glance at his chest. His eyes were already closed.

"Uh huh."

"Was Officer Benton nice enough?"

"Yes, he was sweet. We played chess a few times."

Danny cracked an eye open. "Oh, yeah?"

Lindsay knew he was jealous. It turned her on even more. _Maybe if I tell him that Peter Benton has gorgeous eyes, then he'll rip off his shirt and grab me around the waist and throw me to the floor and then he'll –_

"You hungry?"

"Oh, God, yes," she moaned.

Danny eyed her before chuckling. "I offered food, not sex," he said with a smirk.

_Oh, Danny, this is _such_ the wrong time to joke about that. _Lindsay bit her lip and nodded.

He made her some pasta and marinara sauce, fixing up a little salad to go on the side. He was too tired to do anything special.

He helped her get into bed, dressing her in her clothes like he'd done every night and every morning. He noted that she was tired in the way her eyes drooped at the table. It took a lot of effort for her to fight the pain all day.

"I still got those pills," he said quietly as he pulled the covers up to her shoulders, "Might help ya sleep better."

She shook her head. Four months ago, maybe she would've been able to use them. Not anymore.

"Thanks for dinner," she said sleepily, and turned her face into the pillow.

"Yeah. G'night, Linds," he said, and brushed her hair off of her face tenderly.

He walked back into the living room and took off his shirt and pants, settling into the couch in his boxers. He wrapped himself in the sheet that smelled like her still, and drifted into the same uneasy sleep he'd fallen into each night at her place. He'd ask her tomorrow about his discussion with Stella. For now, all he needed was rest.


	7. Chapter 7

_This is rated M. It's twelve kinds of weird. Beware._

* * *

Lindsay crept out of her room late that night, People magazine in hand, feet nearly tiptoeing. She avoided the creaky wooden panels on her floor. _I am sneaking through my own house, _she thought angrily, _this is so ridiculously idiotic._

She leaned over the headboard of the couch to see if Danny was asleep. She nearly gasped at the sight before her. He'd kicked the sheets down to the end of the couch, and was lying, one leg thrown off the couch, in his boxers. They were low on his waist, and she could follow the lines of the triangle that led to his –

He grunted and shifted to his side, burying his face in the couch cushion.

_Oh well, _Lindsay thought, _more material for what I'm about to do …_

She was beyond embarrassed, but she'd reached a level of complete and utter desperation. The longing just below her stomach was snapping and popping in anticipation and energy. She had to. She absolutely had to. She had not a single say in the matter. She took a breath, and stepped forwards towards the bathroom.

And stepped on Danny's shoes.

She stumbled backwards, her foot hitting the ground heavily. Danny shot up in bed, one hand already at the coffee table reaching for his gun. He opened his eyes after a minute and stared at her.

"I was just –" her voice was too loud. He'd know. He'd figure it out and he'd laugh or make fun of her or make it awkward or –

Danny reached for his notepad and scribbled down a note. He lifted it up for her to see.

_Something I can do?_

"You can talk; it's OK," she mumbled.

"You need somethin'?"

"Just, ah, some water, I guess. That's it." _And an orgasm. That would be great._

He rolled off the couch and walked to the kitchen alcove, getting her a glass and some ice. She sighed and sat down on a chair, watching him. Specifically his ass, and how perfectly –

"Here," he said, handing her the glass.

"Thanks," she said sheepishly.

His eyes were still practically closed. She felt guilty for waking him up.

"Something worryin' you?" he asked.

"Um, no, not particularly. I'm fine, Danny."

"Your bruises healing OK?"

She nodded. "Stella took me to the doctor yesterday. He said I was fine. You should sleep; you look really tired."

"Naw, I'm good."

She took a sip of the water, letting it cool her throat and hoping it would cool other parts of her body as well.

"You know, if you'd tell me who did this to you, I swear it'll never happen again –"

"Talking privileges revoked. Thanks for the water. I'm going to bed." She grabbed the magazine and stomped off to her room; or rather, as best she could with two giant green bruises on her chest.

He sighed and rolled back into bed.

Lindsay rested in her bed for a while, twisting and turning. Finally, she picked up the phone and called him.

"Hi, this is Lindsay Monroe, I'd like to speak to Samuel Monroe, please," she told the nurse at the desk.

"_Ma'am, it's almost lights out. You won't have much time."_

"I don't care."

"_Hold on while I connect you."_

Lindsay heard a click, a rustle, and then a beep, and suddenly her brother was humming into the receiver.

"Hey, Sammy."

She heard him breathe in response.

"I know you hate talking to people, but I just really need someone to listen to me, OK?"

He tapped the phone with his finger.

"He came back, Sammy. Evan is back."

"_Are you hurt?" _His voice was raspy, tired from years of silence.

"A little. I'll be fine. But I don't know what to do."

She told him the story of the beating, what she couldn't tell Danny, what she couldn't tell Stella or Mac or Hawkes or Flack. She told him how she missed their grandmother, because she'd know what to do, and how she wanted to run away but there were too many things that tied her down.

When she'd finished, Sammy continued to breathe on his end. She knew he was thinking, and caring, but she knew he had nothing to say.

"I miss you, too, Sam," she said softly. "I'm going to go. I love you."

"_Same."_

She heard him hang up, and fought hard against the lump in her throat. She never thought she'd miss her family until she'd been all alone in an apartment in New York, her first night. She'd almost cried herself to sleep.

She rolled over onto her side with a grunt and took a breath. Her mind floated back to Danny, and the hurt look he'd shot her when she told him he couldn't speak again. She grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest. She thought of his abs. That was what got her going. She tried to get it out with thoughts of pies and knitting and other non-sexual objects, but all of a sudden she was mentally trailing her tongue down his chest.

She barely realized it when her hand drifted down to her stomach, flitting and hovering above the place where she desperately wished he were. Not that he would, anyways, because during the past month her previously skinny stomach had swelled slightly. It looked like she'd been eating a three course meal four times a day. She hated it and loved it at the same time.

She let her hand drift farther until it was resting between her thighs. She couldn't go any further. It was all too embarrassing. She'd never been driven this far before, never had to pleasure herself out of necessity.

"Fuck it, I'll regret it if I don't," she whispered to herself, and moved her hand higher.

She didn't realize how difficult it would be. She tried to pretend her fingers were his, tried to imagine Danny lying on top of her doing it instead, but the images wouldn't become real, and she felt nothing more than sexually frustrated.

She had to give up eventually, had to go to the bathroom and wash her hands and feel the same way she'd felt all day. It took her an hour to fall asleep, before tossing and turning and thinking of him.


	8. Chapter 8

_Another rated M one. _

* * *

Danny skipped in the halls. It was a whim. He couldn't help it.

"Stell!" he called, spying the tall woman walking out of the elevator.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile as he jogged his way jauntily over to her.

"I got news."

"What kind?"

"The kick-ass kind."

Stella laughed.

"I called around to Lindsay's old colleagues, back in Montana, and I found some stuff out."

"What was it?"

"Turns out, Lindsay never told them she was gettin' transferred until the day of. They had no idea she was livin' in New York. Most of 'em were thinkin' she was in Oakland this whole time; apparently, she'd talked about moving there."

"Why would she lie?"

"Dunno, but I think it's got something to do with the boyfriend."

"What boyfriend?"

"She never told him she was leaving."

"Her _boyfriend? _Why would she keep it a secret?"

They walked down the hall, Danny leading her into his office.

"I got no clue. Guy's name was Evan Watts. He turns up at the Bozeman lab the day after she leaves, all set to file a missing person's report. They tell him she left already."

Stella frowned, sitting in Lindsay's chair and spinning slowly. Danny leaned back on the desk. "Did he try to look for her?" Stella asked.

"Nope. Stayed in Montana. He's got seven DUI's over the years, though, five of which were during the time he and Lindsay were 'sposed to be going out."

"That explains why she never mentioned him. She was embarrassed."

"Shouldn't be…" Danny grumbled, picking up the case file he'd been working on.

"You know, maybe we should talk to him?"

Danny shook his head. "Already tried. The guy's been AWOL since three weeks ago. Left his house right outside Bozeman."

Stella sighed and leaned back in the chair. "So we still have basically nothing."

Danny nodded. "I'd better get back to her. Hawkes' shift starts in an hour. He'll wanna get over here."

Danny opened the door to the apartment just as famous shower scene in Psycho occurred. The woman in the shower on the TV screamed. Lindsay screamed. Hawkes leaped up, sending the empty popcorn bowl flying.

Danny stared at them for a beat before bursting into laughter at Hawkes' face.

"That's not funny, man," Sheldon mumbled.

Sheldon collected his things and gave Lindsay a quick peck on the cheek before heading out.

"Traffic is god-awful, Hawkes, watch out," Danny cautioned as he waved his friend goodbye.

Danny closed the door behind him and walked over to sit next to Lindsay. They looked at each other, Psycho still playing in the background.

Danny opened his mouth to talk, but remembered at the last second. He ripped out his notebook with an exaggerated eye roll and scribbled down, _wanna finish the movie?_

He showed her the note.

"NO!" She shouted quickly. "I mean, no. It's really creepy."

Danny chuckled and turned off the TV, leaning forwards and giving Lindsay a fantastic view of his jean-clothed ass. She almost fainted at the sight.

"Oh, God," she whispered, biting her bottom lip.

He gave her a questioning look.

She shook her head of the thoughts and smiled. "I'm fine."

_You take some of those pills I got ya?_

She shook her head.

Danny frowned.

"Danny, the bruises are practically healed."

He crossed his hands over his chest.

"I swear; I'm nearly one hundred percent." She pursed her lips and glared back at him. "You know, you don't have to stay here. We're not together anymore. I'm practically well. You don't have to stay."

Danny groaned in frustration. He wanted to shout at her, talk to her, work it out, to give her the pills and talk her into taking them. He couldn't say anything. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He had a plan. He ran to his bag and pulled out his ipod, hooking it up to her stereo.

"Danny, what are you –"

He held up a finger for her to wait. He snagged the pills from the bedside table and raced back into her living room just as the song started.

"The Temptations?" Lindsay asked.

Danny held up the pills and mouthed the lyrics as the song played:

_I know you want to leave me,_

_But I refuse to let you go._

_If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy,_

_I don't mind 'cause you mean that much to me._

_Ain't too proud to beg – as you know it._

_Please don't leave me, girl, don't you go._

_Ain't too proud to plead, baby, baby,_

_Please don't leave me girl …_

Lindsay was rolling on the couch laughing by the time he finished. He twirled and twisted around her, shaking the pills like a tambourine.

"Ow," she choked through her tears of mirth.

Danny finally sat beside her, out of breath and smiling. When she'd stopped laughing, he placed the pills in her lap with an imploring look on his face.

"Danny, I can't take the pills. I have reasons. I just can't."

He groaned and let his head fall onto her lap.

She giggled and shoved him up, kissing him on the cheek. "Nice try, though."

When he finally got her into bed that night, he felt like whispering the lyrics back into her ear – _please don't leave me, girl –_ she kept so much from him, held him at a distance. He couldn't, for the life of him, discover why. But hadn't he done the same thing? Hadn't he kept her from his pain so she wouldn't be touched by it, wouldn't feel any of the hurt?

Instead, he folded back the covers and tucked her in. He didn't touch her because she didn't want it. He didn't kiss her because she wasn't his.

He didn't know she was awake, comatose from his touch. She was hovering over sleep, not quite touching it. He didn't realize that he'd brushed her breast when he put her down on the bed. That sent her off. Just the slightest touch, that tiny little swish of his hand, and her body was tingling. No – not tingling. Resonating with some impossible frequency.

When he left her, with a kiss on the top of her head and a touch to her cheek, she reluctantly dragged her hand down to the juncture of her legs and tried to fix her problem. She was closer than the night before, but still nothing. There was an invisible wall, a barrier that only Danny Messer could climb. She'd had a taste of him. There was no going back, no matter how she worked her own fingers.

She needed help.

* * *

_If anyone who's reading would like to hear the song (which, if you don't know it, I'd HIGHLY advise doing. It's the best song ever) then it's called "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" by the Temptations. You can search that on youtube and you'll get it._


	9. Chapter 9

_This one is rated M, just like the last few. Maybe I should just bump the rating up ... :)_

_Oh, by the way, there might be confusion. Stick with me; I'll clear it up. _

* * *

The next night, she heard him come in the door. He shut it carefully, like he was trying to keep quiet. His footsteps betrayed him as they sounded slowly to her room. He looked in the door and she could see his slow smile through the slit her eyes created. The light came from behind him, making him glow all the more in the dark of her room.

She heard him shut the door. He walked around the apartment, shuffling into the bathroom where she heard the hiss of the faucet. She heard the swishing sounds of his teeth being brushed. The whispers of clothing told her that he was changing into his sweats. Then the click of the light, the golden glow of which disappeared from under her door. Then a sigh, gentle yet grunted, and the sheets shifting.

She closed her eyes. Her hand slid under the covers to the pulsing between her legs. She pretended he was next to her, shifting and grunting. The sound of his slow breathing, loud and echoing in the dark, helped her along. She slowly moved her finger, gliding it in and out of herself. But nothing happened. The steady frustration mounted, while her horniness did not decrease in the slightest. There was no satisfaction. Her fingers were too small – and despite her fervent imaginations, she could not stop knowing each move they would take.

With a small gasp, she pulled her fingers out and stood. She walked to her door, opened it slowly. A shirtless Danny sat up and stared at her, eyes lidded with near-sleep, mouth slightly open.

He tried to pretend, too – that she was just someone he had to take care of, whose sole meaning in his life was a charge, someone to protect. He failed miserably. Her hair was mussed, her baggy shirt billowing slightly low in her stomach. Where he knew his child was, no matter what she refused to say about it.

His eyes traveled down her body, along the curviness of her hips showing clear through the baggy t-shirt, down to the bare, shapely legs. He closed his mouth and forced the thoughts away.

Lindsay stepped closer, feet softly whispering on the wood floors. She took careful, slow steps, setting her entire foot down and pausing before lifting the other – not because she was hurt. The bruises had long since faded to pale green spots on her flesh. She moved towards him, creeping along the open side of the couch.

He said nothing, merely watched as she stepped towards him.

She crawled on top of him, moving like a fox or a cat, one hand and one knee on either side of his body. As she moved forwards, with each slide of her knees, he leaned back more and more.

Finally, their heads were even. She leaned close to him, never touching him. Her head was tilted, eyes lidded. Her body was stretched on top of his, knees holding her just above him. No more than a hair's breadth from him.

It took him a moment to decide what he had to do. He'd always been the one to start things between them, from going to Montana, to inviting her on dates, to kissing her first. She'd go all the way, then stop and wait. Because she wasn't nearly self-confident enough, despite his best efforts to convince her otherwise, to assume that he wanted the same.

So he brought his face up, crossed the last barrier between them and kissed her, slowly and sweetly. He did no more than press his lips to hers.

That small touch sent her to the edge of her arousal, inches from falling. She needed no more than the feel of his lips on hers. She gave a half-sigh, half-groan, and fell from her small distance above him. Her knees gave way; her body touched his in the closest way her clothing would allow.

She felt the heat of his body through her t-shirt, the soft skin covering the strong muscles of his chest and stomach.

He opened his mouth further, nudging hers to do so as well. She obliged, and felt his tongue glide into her mouth, stroking hers gently. He sighed then, as if something he'd been so unsure about for so long had finally become clear to him. He shifted beneath her, moving his legs to ease her into a less awkward position.

He urged his hips up and used the motion to brush against her center as well as shift her upwards to bring her body even with his.

He planned in his head – this was the first step in a long process. He guessed that it would be months before they went farther than just kissing. Then more, then more. When the baby grew in her stomach, they'd hold hands at the doctor's office. He'd propose, not because of the baby, but because when he looked at her the world made sense.

He a knee and wrapped an arm around her, creating a sort of wall around her, encasing her in him. He smoothed her hair, touching her scalp with his fingertips.

The movement of his legs slid her further between his legs, causing her to moan smoothly into his mouth. Her hips rose involuntarily, moving against the growing hardness in his sweats. One of his legs slipped between hers, so she was straddling it. It rose to move against her.

He could barely feel her through his sweats, but slowly began to move the knee up and down, mimicking the actions his hips longed to make.

It was all she needed, really. The unbearable pulsing of her center wouldn't alleviate with her fingers, but all it took was a few moves of his knee and she was motionless against him, hands splayed on his chest, unable to move. One last brush of his knee and she exploded, groaning heavily into his mouth, satisfied.

Her frustration was gone, replaced by smooth, calm sleepiness. She smiled against him, softer than before.

He finally broke their long kiss and moved her head to rest on his shoulder. He was a little surprised she'd finished so quickly. Her breathing was shallow, panting, but slowing.

He turned to look at her in the dusky dark of the room. Her cheeks were flushed, mouth parted, eyes closed.

He kissed her nose and wondered how quickly he could get her off the second time. He disentangled himself from her and brought a leg over her so that he was on top, arms holding him beside her bed. Her eyes slowly opened, curious as to what he was doing.

He kissed her worries away, first on the lips, then lower and lower. He knew where he was headed. He pulled her shirt off of her so she lay beneath him in only her underwear. He kissed her neck, collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, her stomach – where he was stopped. He brought a hand across the smooth skin of her belly, feeling the raised, tight skin. He kissed it gently.

Lindsay was too distracted at first to realize what he was doing. She was too caught on what he was about to do to realize that the present was a more pressing matter. Finally, when she felt him touching and feather-kissing the newly-acquired weight concentrated around her abdomen, her eyes snapped open. She looked down at him.

He kissed it again, captivated by what was in there.

She stared down at him. He looked up.

"Lindsay," he whispered, "I know."

She barely heard him for the roaring in her ears; her previous peace suddenly shattered. She pulled her legs up and grabbed the t-shirt, throwing it on, never mind that it was backwards.

"No," she cried, "no, stop. No, stop."

"Linds, it's OK, I _know," _he said, reaching for her.

She ran to the front door, still only clothed in her t-shirt, and unlocked it swiftly. _He'll hurt it like he hurt me. He'll leave because he can't take it – oh, god, oh, god, please no, please just let him forget –_

Her mind tumbled with images of herself, holding a baby, alone in a subway station. Watching as he left with someone perfect, someone blonde, someone he loved, someone else.

She raced out of her apartment, clambered down the stairs, and spun down them, pushing him further and further away from her, racing to a place where he couldn't hurt her again.


	10. Chapter 10

She raced outside, swinging open the door of her apartment building and stepping out into the cold air. Her bare feet protested the freezing ground, but after a few moments, she didn't notice them anymore – they were merely blocks of ice she could use to move herself farther away from him.

But she'd failed at that, she realized, as she heard his pounding footsteps behind her, heard his voice calling her name, closer and closer and no matter that she was running and running far away from him because it wasn't more than a few second before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

He was speaking, she could see that, and he'd put on clothes and was gesturing to hers, but she couldn't make out a word he was saying. The roar in her ears was too much, her dizzy head was too much, and she really, really had to throw up.

So, she shoved him out of the way and headed for the edge of the sidewalk. She opened her mouth and let her body take over, vomiting into the side of the street. Danny knelt beside her, pulling her onto his lap so her knees wouldn't touch the blanket of ice on the concrete. He brushed her short hair back and smoothed the curve of her back with one hand.

When she'd finished, she felt emptied in more ways than one. She was too tired to argue when Danny lifted her, tucked as much as he could of her body into his coat, and walked back to her building.

The only thing she registered as they made their way back was how far she'd run – nearly four blocks of getting-away-from-hurt.

She groaned as he walked up the steps – low in her throat, muted by the pressing of her lips. The movement hurt her recently-vacated stomach.

"You still can't talk," she whispered to his neck.

"Yeah, I can," he said gruffly. "And I will. We got some things to discuss."

She startled him with an open-mouthed sob. He turned to look at her, pausing in his walk up the stairs to her apartment.

"Linds?" He asked. His voice was gentler this time, softer. Concerned.

She shook her head and turned her face to his shirt, sobbing and crying out. It was the unstoppable kind of crying – the kind that isn't glorified by models and movie stars, the snotty, all out wail. It was a deluge of hiccups and heaving and weeping all bumping into each other and rolled into one.

Danny could do nothing but continue his walk. He was dead worried about her, wondering what could possibly make her run out into the cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear.

He laid her down on the couch of her apartment, still warm from their recent encounter. He shut the door and brought her water and a lemon to suck on.

She did what he asked, drinking what he gave her and eating part of a sandwich he made her to make up for the throwing up. He ignored the elephant in the room, or, rather, the baby in her stomach, for as long as he could before setting down her water glass and staring right at her.

"Linds, we have to talk about it."

"Why," she said dully.

"Because it's not – it's not just a thing. It's a baby."

"_He_'s a baby."

"What?"

"It's a he."

"How do you know? Did you see a doctor?"

She shrugged. "I just do."

He sat back on his heels, thinking it all over. He was stunned and hurt.

"He's not yours. We don't have to talk about it because he's not yours," she said, turning her face away to stare at the water glass.

He touched her cheek and turned her to him, forcing her to look him straight in the eyes. "He's mine. I know he is."

She sniffed, nose running. She wiped it with her sleeve, reminding Danny of a little kid. "How do you know?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"Because I know you. You would never do that."

"Fine. He's yours. But we still don't have to talk about it."

"Why is that?"

"Because you don't care," she said, tears dripping from her eyes. She made no move to brush them away, "Because you'll leave. Because you're scared to be with me because you don't love me."

"Linds, you know that's not true. I love you more than anything." He cupped her face in his hands.

"Then why did you cheat?" she asked. "Why did you do it? I thought we were happy, I really did, but you just – you just – left me."

"You think I'll leave you and the baby?"

She nodded, and sniffed again.

"Is that why you ran when I told you I knew about him?"

"I didn't want to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"That you didn't want him."

"I do want him," he said softly, brushing her tears away. "I want him more than anything. And I love you. I want you, too."

"I don't believe you."

"Then give me time to prove it."

She hesitated, pausing to sniff again. She took his hands and held them in her lap. She stroked them softly, turning them to look at his palms. She traced the lines of his hands, teasing and soft strokes until his hands twitched in reflex.

"OK," she whispered.

He smiled. "Now, can you please take a bath so you don't get pneumonia?"

She chuckled through her tears and nodded.

She thought nothing of it when he took off her clothes – it was a ritual. She didn't flinch when he climbed into the bath with her, hugging her until the cold was no longer a part of her. He washed her face with a washcloth, carefully wiping the tears away.

She shushed his movements when she took his hands again and lay back against him. He rested his chin on her head and leaned back onto the cold, white surface of the tub. They watched the steam rise over the water together.

"We have to have rules," Lindsay said softly. "I need rules."

"Nuh uh. No way. Last time you made rules, I would up with writer's cramp."

She smiled. "Different rules."

"Like what?" he asked, feeling her run her fingers over the lines in his palm again.

"For starters, we don't talk about the baby unless we're in a doctor's office."

"Or if I think you're in trouble. Then I can talk about it all I want."

She sighed. "Fine."

"Oh, and I stay here until we catch the guy that beat you up. 'Cause you're crazy if you think I'm leavin' after that."

"Alright, alright."

"And I get to talk. All the time. Whenever I want."

"That's a bad idea," she said with a giggle, "but I'll let it slide."

"You'll tell Mac about the baby, right? 'Cause I don't want you doin' any field work if you've got this kid –"

"What was rule number one?" She asked exasperatedly.

"This falls under my addition to rule number one," he said firmly, "if I think you're in trouble, I get to say somethin' about it."

"OK. Now – my rules. Don't baby me. Stop looking at me like you're pitying me, because I hate that. And if I say you have to stop talking about something, then you have to do it."

He nodded. "Can I suggest something?"

"Yeah."

"Can we go to bed? It's almost morning. And the bath is getting cold."

She smiled. "Yes."

He lifted her out of the bath and wrapped her in a towel before doing the same himself. He got her dressed in the warmest pajamas he could find in her closet, then wrapped her in a few extra blankets.

"Danny - new rule."

"What?"

"You have to sleep in the same bed as me."

He grinned and pulled on his sweats, then climbed in next to her. He pulled her close and kissed her head. "We'll be fine," he whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

Danny was way too excited to function. That morning, he'd put his shoes on the wrong feet in anticipation of what was to happen. He had Lindsay's hand in his as they waited in the elevator to go up to the doctor's office.

"Does this count?" Danny asked quickly.

"Count as what?" Lindsay responded. In contrast to Danny's jittery happiness, Lindsay was tired and nauseated. She was scared to death of what awaited her, what news there was of the baby. She wished more than anything that he (she just knew it was a boy, she couldn't explain her reasons) were something she could hold in her hand, something she could touch and protect. She clutched the shirt covering her belly absentmindedly, worrying as each ping of the elevator sounded their ascent.

"Count as the doctor's office. Can I talk about …" he gestured to her stomach.

She smiled worriedly at him. "Yes, you can."

"Finally! How have you been feeling? I mean, I know it's only been two days since we talked about it – him -, but still. Does he kick? Can you feel him? Are you sick a lot? Should we buy baby clothes? A crib?"

"Danny, Danny, slow down! We haven't even gotten an exam done yet."

"But you're pregnant. We know that."

"Don't say that word," she said quickly.

He looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong with it?"

She closed her eyes. "Just don't."

He sighed. He'd found that he could do nothing once she'd gone into her 'clam-state,' when she closed her eyes and shut him out. He gave her hand a light squeeze.

The doors opened and they walked in.

The doctor said she would see them right away. She walked in not more than a few minutes after they did.

"Ms. Monroe? I'm Dr. Levine."

Lindsay nodded.

"When did you find out you were pregnant?" she asked.

Lindsay winced at the word. Danny took her hand again. She took a breath. "I suspected for about a month before I found out."

Danny straightened beside her.

"But I actually found out when I was in the hospital about four weeks ago. I got my test results back. They confirmed it."

Danny's foot tapped nervously. How had he missed that?

"What were you in the hospital for?"

Lindsay gulped. "I was … um … " she looked to Danny for help.

He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Lindsay was attacked by an unknown male. She had some internal bruising and a broken rib, as well as a couple of bruises on her face."

"I see that indicated on her file," Dr. Levine said slowly, reviewing the chart. "I also see you had an ultrasound at the hospital to check on the baby?"

Lindsay nodded.

"Everything seemed to be fine …" the doctor said, "Well, we'll just have another look."

When they left the exam room, Danny dragged his feet. "Do we have to go?" he asked as he hung around the magazine rack.

"I guess not. We could stay a little longer," she said, smiling.

He brightened and pulled her along to sit in the benches in the lobby outside of the office.

"So …" he said, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forwards. "How're you feeling about all of this?"

Her lip trembled. "I'm scared," she whispered.

He turned to her quickly, previously unaware of her feelings. "Linds," he said gently.

"I don't know what to do, Danny, I know I'm going to screw up."

"You can't screw up, Linds. It's not possible. You're going to be a great mother, and –"

"I had a miscarriage. A bad one." She took a shuddering breath to calm herself, but it didn't work. Tears started to drip from her eyes.

Danny leaned to her and kissed her temple, wrapping his arms around her middle.

"When was this?" he asked softly.

She turned her head away, suddenly very interested in the pale sunlight drifting in through the window of the lobby. "About five years ago."

"How did it happen?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Honey, -"

"No, Danny. I don't want to talk about it." She stood as though to leave, brushing her shirt down and wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

Danny tugged her back to him, gently pulling her onto his lap. She was limp in his arms, tired and lifeless. He guided her head to his shoulder.

"Just clear up one thing for me."

"Danny …"

"Just one little thing, and that's it for today. C'mon, Linds, I'm in the dark here."

She sighed and nodded.

"Does it have to do with the person who hurt you here?"

She nodded.

"So this person is back?"

Another nod, weaker this time.

"Well it ain't gonna happen again. So don't bother thinkin' it."

She chuckled and smiled. "OK," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "Can we go home?"

He pouted, looking like a three year old. Lindsay openly laughed. "Can we talk more about the baby tonight?" he asked.

"OK. Tonight."

They left the building happier and headed for a pharmacy Danny knew of around the block to get Lindsay's prenatal vitamin prescription filled.

As they crossed the street, Lindsay's eye caught on a figure. Not a menacing figure, to say the least, but a recognizable figure. The kind she never wanted to see again. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, and he stared at her with a gaze that melted her insides and set her nerves alight with fear. She shrunk into Danny's side, clutching at his shirt.

"Montana, watcha doin'? he asked jokingly.

"Give me your hat," she whispered to him.

He pulled it from his back pocket and put it on her head, bringing it low on her face. "Honey, you're freakin' me out a little."

"I …" She saw the figure move towards them. She pulled Danny down the sidewalk, moving quickly. He trudged behind her, only connected through the busy crowd by her hand, clutching his tightly.

Finally, he jogged up to her, pushing through the pedestrian traffic. They'd been walking quickly for nearly three blocks.

"Linds," he said, "tell me what we're doin' here."

She gave no response. She looked up, on her tiptoes, over the heads of the thick crowd. She saw the figure, still approaching, yet looking around as though he'd lost someone in the crowd.

Lindsay gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall behind her.

"What were you doing?" Danny asked. "Were you running away from someone?"

"Not now," Lindsay pleaded, pulling him to her. She kissed him hard, pushing memories out with the feel of his tongue.

He nudged the hat on her head up with one hand to kiss her deeper, cracking one eye to see what he was doing. He saw the figure in his peripheral vision, but thought little of it until the shape raised a fist.

Danny reacted quickly – breaking the kiss and wrapping his arms around Lindsay such that no part of her body faced the man.

The blow came down onto Danny's back, strong and swift. Danny forced himself to absorb the blow so as not to jolt Lindsay or the baby.

The second after he felt it, he whipped around and shoved Lindsay behind himself with one hand.

The man lunged at Danny in an attempt to side-swipe him and head for Lindsay, but Danny would have none of that. He blocked the guy with an outstretched arm and threw him back to the ground.

"Go inside," he grunted to Lindsay, pointing at the clothing store to his left.

"Danny, I want to –"

"NOW!" he shouted. He heard her leave, felt her flutter her fingers on his back as though telling him what she was doing.

He moved only after he heard the door chime and shut behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

_Thanks to kcaitlin for her help on this. And the last one._

Once he knew Lindsay was safe for the time being, Danny lifted the man up and threw him against the wall. He held his hands tightly around the man's throat, cutting off his air supply.

"So tell me, buddy, what the hell were you thinking?" Danny asked conversationally through gritted teeth. He loosened his grip so the man could talk.

The man shook his head.

Danny shifted so that he held the man with one arm around his neck, with a knee in his stomach, and rummaged in the guy's pocket until he found a wallet. He flipped it open and read the driver's license.

"Evan Watts, huh? So Evan, think you can just smack somebody for no reason?"

Evan garbled something through Danny's brutal chokehold.

"What was that? I'm sorry I didn't quite catch it," Danny spat, but loosened his grip.

"She's cheating on me," Evan repeated.

"That girl you tried to hit? Yeah, don't think so. Tell me somethin', Evan, who do you think you tried to hit?" he asked.

"Lindsay Monroe," Evan spluttered, still recovering from Danny's hold.

Danny kept his voice steady. "And what makes you think she's goin' out with you?"

"She never left me," Evan hissed.

The door chimed all-too cheerfully behind Danny. He knew he couldn't turn, couldn't look around for fear that Evan would squirm out of his grasp.

"Lindsay, get back inside," he said firmly.

She ignored him. "Evan, what are you doing here?" She used the hat as a sort of shield, letting the shadow fall intentionally across her face, hiding her emotions from him.

"Lindsay. Go. Back. Inside." Danny grunted, still holding Evan against the wall.

"You're coming home," Evan shouted, though the effect was muted by Danny's arm straining his vocal cords. "You have to come home with me."

Lindsay shook her head. "How did you find me?" she asked, voice still soft and barely audible over Evan's strains and gasps as he fought Danny's arm and knee.

"Your mother told me where you went. Stupid bi-agh …" his voice was lost as Danny pressed harder against his windpipe.

"Sorry? What was that?" Danny growled.

Lindsay looked up the sidewalk at two officers, attracted by the commotion, jogging towards them.

"Just go home, Evan," she said, her voice stronger.

"You have to come back with me," he rasped.

"No. We're not together anymore. I'm with someone else –"

Evan struggled harder against Danny, nearly forcing himself out of the hold in anger. He was panting heavily, grunting and trying to shake the arm that held him. Danny wasn't giving up, though, and easily held Evan against the wall with his weight.

Danny alerted the officers who'd just arrived that he was a cop, and handed Evan off to them, explaining what had happened. He called Flack quickly, explained what had occurred, and didn't hang up until Flack promised to take special care of Mr. Evan Watts.

Snapping his phone shut, Danny looked over to where Lindsay leaned on the wall of the store, her eyes closed, her mind clearly elsewhere. Her arms were crossed tightly in front of her, one hand hanging down to graze the top of her stomach.

Danny jogged over to her, startling her out of her reverie with a tap to her arm. She flinched.

"Let's go," he said gently, tugging on her arm. She followed him slowly, still wearing his baseball hat pulled low on her head. She leaned her head on his arm while he walked, each still calming down from the previous encounter.

It wasn't until they were sitting on the subway that they spoke.

"What were you thinkin'?" Danny gently asked the face burrowed into his arm.

"I had to talk with him," came the muffled response.

"You can take the hat off, ya know."

"I don't want to."

"He's not comin' –"

"Stop. We can't talk about him."

"Linds, c'mon –"

"No. It's one of my rules. Take it or leave it." Her voice was tired, weak, yet she managed to speak with enough conviction to convince Danny to shut up.

--

He didn't last long, though.

Four hours later, as Lindsay lay, nearly asleep, in his arms, he spoke up. "Linds, I can't do this."

He didn't see the worried glance that swept across her face. _This is it. He'll leave me now. Just a couple of minutes more of Danny Messer, and then nothing at all –_

"You gotta tell me what's going on. I'm worried to death about 'cha, and I need you to give me something. Anything."

She tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

"Oh, no, no. Stay. Explain it. Just tell me a little bit."

She shook her head.

"How about some basics? How'd you meet him? Can you tell me that?"

"At a bar."

"That's all you're gonna give me?

"Yeah. Are you sorry you're still with me yet?" she asked, her voice hard and rough. The question contained within shined through, though, a fact that Danny did not take too lightly.

Danny turned her around to look at her in the eyes. "I'll never be sorry I'm with you. Got it?"

"He said other guys would leave me after what I did," Lindsay said matter-of-factly. "He said that they wouldn't deal with it. That I was lucky to have him."

"I highly doubt that."

"Can we just stop talking about it?"

"How long were you together?"

She sighed heavily. "Two years."

"You lived together?"

She nodded.

"Why'd you leave him?"

Lindsay shifted Danny back with her butt and threw the covers off of herself. She stood and stomped out of the bedroom.

"Montana, I get it. OK, I'll stop. Hey, Montana!" Danny shouted when she did not reappear in the doorway.

He groaned at himself for being so stupid and leapt off of the bed after her. Jogging into the kitchen, he found her gouging the peanut butter jar with a spoon. She didn't see him at first, merely continued digging around in the jar for a heaping mound of the sticky mess.

"Lindsay," Danny murmured. Lindsay jumped about a foot in the air and turned around, her hair covering her eyes.

"Jesus, Danny, just go back to bed."

"No."

"Don't be so obnoxious. Go back to bed. I can't sleep with you. I'll stay on the couch."

"You're the pregnant one. You take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch if that's what you want."

"Yes," she snapped, "That _is_ what I want."

She slammed the peanut butter jar on the table and rammed the spoon into her mouth. Brushing past him, she headed back for the bedroom.

"I'm sorry," she heard him sigh behind her. She hesitated for a moment, never bothering to look around, then walked, though slower and less angrily, back to bed.

She pulled the covers tightly up to her chin and curled away from the door, sucking on the spoon. It wasn't more than three or four minutes later before the door creaked open and she felt the bed shift under her. Danny's arm gently rubbed her side, from her hip up to where her elbow bent in reclusive tension. She relaxed, and once he felt the muscles in her body ease, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

"New rule," he whispered, "we don't ever go to bed mad."

She nodded and rolled over to hug him.

"I'm sorry I pushed you," he said, "and I won't do it again. But I'm here if you wanna talk. If not, that's OK, too."

She smiled and kissed him.

"Just promise me somethin'," he asked.

"Huh," she answered, burying her head in his chest.

"Just don't be scared to talk to me."

"OK," she smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

_Drama drama drama! _

_Thanks to kcaitlin and jessmary for their help on this one._

* * *

She ate breakfast in silence, partially because each swallow further infuriated the monster of nausea that settled in the pit of her stomach. An hour after eating, she rushed off to the bathroom again. Danny sat behind her, crooning that it would be alright, just let it all out.

He brushed off her forehead and mouth with a wet towel, gave her a glass of water to drink, and kissed her head before helping her back onto the couch.

"Do you feel like eating _anything_?" he asked hopefully. "Think hard."

She closed her eyes tiredly and leaned back onto the couch pillows. "I don't know."

"OK," he sighed, "Sweet or salty?"

"Umm … salty."

"Crunchy or smooth?"

"Hmm … cru- no, smooth."

"How about some soup?"

Her eyes opened, and she smiled at him. "Sounds great. In a little while, though, my throat is still sore."

"Got it," he grinned, "I'll start making it."

For the next hour, he made her some tortellini minestrone and put a cover on the pot so it would stay warm until she wanted it. He set about cleaning up the kitchen, washing plates and putting away cups and silverware until the place sparkled again, changed only by the simmering pot on the stove and a clean bowl set out with a spoon on the countertop.

Danny ambled back into the living area to find Lindsay snoozing on the couch. She had a blanket wrapped around her, and her head rested calmly on a pillow.

Danny leaned in to kiss her cheek when he realized that she was shifting around. She was mumbling and shaking slightly. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she was hanging onto the blanket with clenched fists.

"Linds," he whispered. He shook her shoulder. He knew she needed her rest, but he knew she wouldn't benefit from a nightmare.

"Montana, honey," he said louder, "c'mon, it's a nightmare, wake up."

She flinched from his touch and woke quickly, shoving him away with a whimpered cry of "no!"

"Montana, it's me, it's Danny, wake up, baby," he said gently, reaching to smooth her hair.

She backed away, eyes still half lidded. "Stop," she slurred, still backing away. She slowed, blinked a few times, and realized where she was. "Oh," she sighed, as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

Danny moved her feet to his lap and sat next to her. "Awake this time?" he asked, running his fingers up and down her leg.

She winced. "Yeah."

Danny leaned over and gave her a kiss on her forehead. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No," she said firmly.

"If it's haunting you, Linds, then I wanna help," he soothed patiently.

She shook her head. "Let it go."

"What is it, are you scared?" The gentle tone provided stark contrast to her terse, shaky one.

"I said let it go."

"I did. I've moved on to _why_ you aren't telling me. Is it because you're scared? Because I told you last night – don't be."

"Danny …"

"Are you embarrassed? Because you shouldn't be."

"Stop it!" she yelled, "Stop trying to figure it out. I just don't want to tell you, OK?"

Danny moved her legs off of his lap and got up. "I can't take this," he muttered, and headed for the door. "I gotta go."

What Lindsay didn't realize is that he wanted to go out. To get some fresh air, to maybe smoke one of the cigarettes he'd sworn off of nearly two years ago.

"No, please!" she shrieked.

"Linds, I geddit. I'm goin, OK?" He headed for the door, barely touching it before he heard her sob behind him.

"He said you'd do this. That guys won't stay for that kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" he asked suspiciously, his hand still on the doorknob.

"You don't want him," she sobbed, "guys don't want babies. Fine, go."

"Linds, I want the baby."

"No, you don't," she blubbered, "he said no one does. He said that's why he did it."

"Did what?" His voice sounded too hoarse, too terse. He wanted to be gentle with her, but he didn't have the patience. He wasn't prepared, so to speak, for the bomb she hit him with.

"Why he hit me so hard. In the stomach. Because he didn't want one, and he was just acting like any guy would." She said softly, her voice meek and pained.

He turned to look at her in surprise. "I'd never –"

"Just go, OK? I don't want to do it again. I don't want my baby to die again, Danny, please, so just go." Her voice was begging, pleading, so much so that Danny was almost convinced to leave, if he hadn't disagreed with her assumption.

"Your … your … he killed …" Danny's mouth wouldn't close, though he was trying.

She sniffed. "He hit me with the handle of a rake," she mumbled, "in the stomach. I was four and a half months along. I miscarried."

"He …" Danny couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

"He'd been hitting me for a while – three months into the relationship, he started doing it. Then I got pregnant. I was happy because I thought he'd stop. I guessed that he'd just grow up." She turned her red face up to look at him and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "I thought I'd fixed it. But I didn't. And I knew I couldn't go through it again. So I went to my brother and he gave me his car, and I got a transfer."

Danny slowly shuffled from the door, and sat in the chair next to the couch, keeping his distance. "Pretty brave of you."

She laughed sarcastically, "Yeah, sure."

"It was."

"I leave after he kills my child. That's great. Awesome." She sniffed, and tears started to drip again. "I'll make a super fantastic mother."

"You will, Linds," he said calmly.

She sniffed. "I met him in a bar." She paused and hiccupped. She looked at Danny's eyes, searching them for something.

"Then what?" he prompted.

"I met him in a bar. He was sweet and funny and he told me I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. His name was Evan Watts. He was a trucker."

She went on to describe it all in detail, from the first time he hit her to the last. She was good throughout, keeping her voice steady and her body strong except for the tissue that she slowly ripped apart while she talked.

When she'd finished, Danny sat wordlessly in front of her, his lips pursed, his eyes sad and squinted.

Lindsay took a shaky breath and caught his eyes.

"Why didn't you leave after the first time?" Danny asked carefully.

She shrugged. "My dad used to shove my mom around a little bit. I didn't think it was so abnormal. It wasn't until it got really bad that I did something about it. It wasn't … it didn't hurt much at the beginning, you know? Just little shoves, little punches to the shoulder when he was mad. Then it just gradually got more and more. Near the end, I would be unable to move for weeks at a time after he hit me. He didn't want me to go to the hospital."

"Why not?"

"It would go on a record. He didn't want any record of it. He said that they would tear us apart. I believed everything he said, Danny, for the longest time. No matter how ridiculous."

"And you think…" he struggled with the concept, "you think I'm gonna leave you 'cause you're pregnant?"

She nodded. "In so many words, yes." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked away from him.

He got up and sat down next to her, lifting her chin with his hand. He kissed her on the lips and pulled away.

"No offense, Montana, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

She managed a watery giggle.

"You having the baby makes me want to stay with you even more. Not 'cause I need to or anything, though, granted, my ma would kill me if I didn't. It's cause I love you and I love the baby, too. I was going out for a smoke, Linds, 'cause I was frustrated that I couldn't help you. I wasn't leaving you at all, honey."

She smiled at him through her tears.

"And if I ever do leave, or, god forbid, try to hurt you or the baby, then just sock me in the face, 'cause it'd be the most moronic move I ever made. Understood?"

She nodded.

He sat back. "You can hurt me if this is insensitive," he said slowly, earning himself a smile, "but why'd you bounce back so quickly from it? You're not crazy untrusting, or anything like that."

"It took me a while," she said sheepishly, "and let's just say there were a few reasons I didn't want to date you originally."

"You thought I'd be like him?" His face showed the hurt his voice hid.

"No. I mean, I wasn't sure. Like you said, it was trust issues. And then with Rik –" her voice cut off abruptly.

"When I cheated on you," he said, slowly figuring it out, "you thought I was like him."

"Danny, I –"

"No, it makes sense. I hurt you like he did, just a different way." He frowned and looked down at his hands.

"But you made up for it," she said hopefully, "I'm still a little hesitant to trust, and maybe that part of me won't ever go away. But I know you love me."

Danny looked up and smiled. "Got that right." He leaned over and kissed her lazily, holding the back of her neck and easing her down on the couch, stroking her hair softly.


	14. Chapter 14

_Rated M_

* * *

She stirred the mixture on the stove pensively, her lips pursed. The sweet smell of cinnamon wafted up from the bowl, assaulting her nose. She felt the sneeze coming and turned away quickly, sneezing quickly on her shoulder.

"Y'alright there, Montana?" Danny called from the bedroom.

She prepared to speak, but felt the tingle in the space between her eyes. She put the bowl down and headed for the bathroom to get some tissues.

After a fitful round of sneezing, she managed a muffled, "I'm fine." She collected tissues and stuffed them in her pockets.

"I hope you didn't get any snot in the apple pie mix," Danny said.

She turned around to see him leaning on the doorway. "I think I'm sick," she said, wiping her nose.

"You sure it wasn't just the cinnamon?"

She nodded. "I've been stuffy and achy all day."

He frowned. "Maybe we should get you checked out? You know, for the baby and all."

"It's a cold, Danny," she sniffed, still wiping her nose, "not pneumonia. Now go finish the pie. I'm too tired."

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "Mmm," he hummed, "you smell like cinnamon." He kissed her neck and helped her to the couch, wrapping her up in a blanket.

They'd been on edge since Evan had been released on bail and had vanished. It didn't bother Lindsay as much as she thought it would. Danny had nearly blown his lid when he'd found out, hollering and going off on the prosecutor, asking what the hell he was thinking not fighting against the bail. Lately, though, his anger seemed to have evolved into precaution, as a new lock had appeared on Lindsay's door, a back-up gun had been placed in the cabinet above the kitchen sink, and Danny had refused to leave her alone.

Lindsay's main concern was her stomach. Nearly a week had passed since the fiasco with Evan, yet Lindsay wondered why her stomach had grown so in such a short length of time. Fifteen weeks along, they said. Lindsay didn't even feel pregnant. She felt fat as hell. It looked like she'd ordered every special at Denny's the night before. The worst part was, Danny hadn't touched her. Sure, they'd kissed. A lot. He'd given her a number of promising massages, but nothing ever happened the way she'd expected. A quick kiss to her buttery-smooth, relaxed flesh and he'd roll over and go to sleep.

And it wasn't as if her earlier problems had just "gone away." They were still there, having a little party low in her stomach every time she saw Danny with his shirt off. Every night.

She was sure it wasn't just the stomach that had been turning him off. The mood swings had taken her full force. She'd practically gotten emotional whiplash from the wide spectrum of feelings she was going through. The situation with Evan didn't help much. She had no desire to talk about it in the first place, having worked hard on blocking off that entire part of her life, and all of a sudden this … heavily ripped, steamy New Yorker is asking her to open it all up.

Having put herself in another bad mood, she crossed her arms and turned on the TV.

Danny came in to give her a slice of one of the apples, but, upon seeing her furrowed brow and the way she slammed her thumb into the remote control buttons, quickly turned around and headed back for the kitchen with jet-like speed.

He waited another half-hour before heading back into the room. She was resting her head on the armrest, anger eased off her face. She lazily watched Dr. Phil. Her eyes flicked up to watch him.

He sat down, absentmindedly wiping the spilled flour on his shirt. He rubbed at the region, located just between his pecs. Lindsay watched, eyes wide. He licked his finger and rubbed more, working the spot out of the shirt. Lindsay's eyes closed briefly, fluttering happily.

The flour clotted, and stuck to his shirt.

"Fuck," he muttered, and ripped the shirt off, exposing his chest to Lindsay. A grin spread across her face. She reached out to snag his arm and roll him under her, but just as she did so, he got up to get another one. Lindsay pouted.

He came back wearing a soft blue shirt that Lindsay decided to rest her head on. Danny stroked her hair slowly, grazing her scalp with his fingernails. When he stopped, Lindsay sat up and kissed him roughly.

_I'll make him do it, _she thought fiercely, _I'll do anything I have to. _She knew that if the feeling between her legs didn't dissipate before the night was through, she'd go out and get a vibrator. Or she'd simply implode. Either way.

She wound her hand in his hair and dragged another hand up his shirt, feeling the tensed muscles. Danny chuckled into her mouth and helped her onto his lap, running one hand up and down her back as she kissed him.

She finally pulled his shirt off and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin bleed into her own shirt. He reached around her and grabbed the remote control, flicking off the television and chucking the control onto the floor.

"Desperate much Montana?" he growled, turning her so she fell underneath him on the couch. He propped himself up with his forearms and let his lower body rest on hers.

After a few minutes, he gave her a smile, a sigh, and pulled himself up. He walked out to the kitchen and checked on the apple pie.

Lindsay was too stunned to say anything, merely pushed herself up on her elbows and stared, openmouthed, at the kitchen.

"Should we go over baby names?" Danny called from the kitchen.

"Wha … what?" Lindsay managed.

"You know, baby names. I mean, I know we don't know the sex yet, but I think we could get some ideas out there."

"Are you kidding me?" she groaned, and sank back into the couch.

He appeared over the top of the couch, looking down at her. "'Bout what?" he asked, his mouth filled with hot apple pie.

She struggled with telling him, wondering how much he would make fun of her versus how turned on he would be. _Judging by my current body figure, my guess is zilch on the latter, _she thought, _But in terms of my horniness, I don't think I have a choice._

"Sit down," she said, frowning.

He chuckled at her firmness, and sat next to her, still shirtless, sucking apple pie bits from his fingers. She was mesmerized by his actions until she shook her head and knocked herself back to the task at hand.

"I need your help."

"Somethin' wrong? You OK? Is the baby OK? 'Cause if not, then my question falls into the 'danger clause,' and I get to –"

"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes.

He sat back, dumbfounded.

"I'm fine. I just … just listen and don't talk. I have some things to tell you." She took a breath. "Who do you think you are?"

"I … uh …"

"You can't just come in here, all cocky and … and _gorgeous_, and drag me around like you've done!"

"Um …" he stared at her, watching her move her hands about, flicking and waving them around her as she illustrated her point, whatever it was.

She grabbed his hands and stared right at him, "Danny, you have _no _idea how horny I am. It's actually the worst thing ever. And you're really not helping."

"Linds, I," he tried to slip his hands from her grasp, but she held tighter.

"And it's not even a certain time of day, even. All the time, I'm just waiting for you to grab me and kiss me and throw me onto the bed." She took a breath, and her voice softened. "I mean, I get it. I know I'm not as pretty as I was when I wasn't pregnant, and I have _this," _she gestured to her stomach, "now, and I'm mad all the time and I throw up a lot, but I'm begging you. I've tried to deal with this … problem on my own, believe me I have. So will you at least just …"

He never let her finish her sentence. He grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely while one hand fumbled with her shirt. He dragged it over her head and threw it away, then focused on her pants. He undid the drawstring of her sweats and helped her shove them away.

Hoisting her up, he started towards the bedroom, taking a detour now and then to press her against the wall and focus on kissing her.

Finally, when they got to the bed, she was completely naked. He stood above her, quickly undoing his pants, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. Before she could react, he was on top of her again, one hand on her hip and another on her breast.

She moaned loudly into his mouth. He brought his hand down between her legs and caressed and massaged her until she gasped and her eyelids fluttered. She smiled at him, touching his face, and let her hand travel lower. He caught it at his abdomen and brought it up above her head.

"You think I'm done?" he asked, smirking at her.

* * *

When she blinked open her eyes, she was lying with the covers tucked on top of her. She lifted one arm and raised the blanket. _Yep, still naked, _she noted. She turned over and saw Danny, lying next to her, softly stroking his thumb across her temple.

She smiled at him. He kissed her softly on her dry lips and sighed softly.

"You're so gorgeous," he said, "so freakin' gorgeous."

"_Freakin'?" _Lindsay asked with a giggle.

"Yes, freakin'." He kissed her neck softly, running his hands up and down her body.

"If I'm so freakin' gorgeous, then how come it took you so long?" She meant it as a joke, but a slight edge in her voice told him to take her seriously.

"Because I didn't know you wanted it yet. I thought we were gonna wait."

Lindsay smiled.

He propped his head up on his elbow and looked down at her. "So …" he said, his face adorably confused, "whadja mean, you tried everything?"

"What?" she laughed.

"You were horny … and you tried … everything."

Lindsay shrugged. "What do you think it means?"

Danny's eyes went wide, then squinted, then he smirked his famous grin. "You did not."

She rolled her eyes. "I did. But it didn't work."

"You sure you were doing it right?" he asked, kissing her neck.

"I do – oh, oh!"

As he kissed lower and lower, she bit her lip rolled her head back. With each thrust of his tongue, she clenched her hands in the pillow until she couldn't take it anymore. She blinked once, twice, then fell back, all muscles dead except for the clenching between her legs. She thought she saw stars before her vision faded and she breathed one long, shuddering breath.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry it's been a while - I was out of town._

* * *

The doctor moved the ultrasound probe over Lindsay's gelled stomach. "Yes, I can see the penis now."

Lindsay searched the screen with squinted eyes. "Where?"

The doctor pointed. "Last time he wasn't in the right position. You're having a boy; you were right."

Lindsay sighed happily. "I knew it."

Danny squeezed her hand, though his eyes were still focused on the screen. "I can't figure out anything. He's like a blob-baby."

The doctor laughed. "He seems to be doing fine. I wouldn't worry. Have you felt him kick yet?"

Lindsay shook her head. "All I've felt is fat. And nauseated. He's my little stomach bug."

The doctor smiled. "You'll feel it. You'll know. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Yeah," Danny said. Lindsay looked at him quizzically. "She's been sick for a while now. She sneezes all the time. Anything you can do about that?"

The doctor frowned and checked Lindsay's throat and nose. She took some blood work ("I have to do it for the baby anyways," she explained to Lindsay) and promised to call when she got the results.

* * *

Danny took her hand as they walked to their customary bench outside of the doctor's office. He'd been a 'good boy,' as Lindsay put it, since the last visit, only asking when he thought she was hurt. What she didn't know was that he slept with his hand on her stomach. He rubbed her belly while she was sleeping. She dreamt about him doing it, but had little evidence to prove it.

"So … you haven't felt him kick?" Danny asked.

"Nope. Not a thing."

"How's the nausea been lately? I haven't seen you go to the bathroom as much."

"It's calmed down a bit."

"Do you get weird cravings yet? Doctor said you might. It doesn't count as talking about the baby if you have a craving. I'll get you what you want."

Lindsay smiled. "I'll tell you if I need something."

"Good," he murmured, and ran his hand through her hair softly. He pulled her close to lean on his chest. "We have to talk about after."

"After what?"

"After the birth."

"What do you mean?"

"Should I get a crib? Toys? Clothes?"

"I … um … I bought a few clothes."

Danny smiled. "You did? Baby clothes?"

She nodded. "A little onesie. It has buffalo on it," she giggled.

"Of course it does," Danny chuckled. "So where are we gonna live?"

"I don't know."

"Should we look for an apartment together?"

"Yours is big enough, you know."

"My new one, you mean?"

"Uh-huh."

"How do you know? You've never been," he said incredulously. He looked down at her.

"I may have … uh, followed you home once or twice." She blushed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" His voice was inquisitive rather than mean, as she expected.

"I wanted to tell you about the baby," she said hesitantly. "I wanted you to know. But I couldn't tell you when it came right down to it. I saw you go in your apartment and I just had this horrible image of you leaving me with …" her voice faltered. Danny shifted her with his arm, nudging her along.

"With who?"

"Some blonde girl. I don't know who."

Danny snorted. He couldn't help it. "You gotta stop with the doubting. I'm not leaving."

"It was a while ago."

"Well don't do it again, OK? I'm staying. And if you want us to live in my apartment, fine. I'll paint the second room."

She smiled and kissed his chest. "What color?"

"I dunno."

"Green."

"Yeah? Why green?"

"It's my favorite color."

"The room isn't for you," he joked.

"I know that, Danny," she mocked, "but I'm the one giving birth to this kid. My vote counts double."

"Completely unfair," he grumbled.

* * *

Danny stirred the marinara sauce. He took a small sample with his pinky finger. _More garlic, _he thought.

Lindsay ambled into the kitchen and sat down on the little table. She watched Danny work, watched him stir and sprinkle and flavor. She crossed her legs in front of her.

"Hey, hey, get your feet off the table."

She smiled at him and complied.

"Here," he said, bringing over a small spoonful of the sauce, "taste. Watcha think?"

She took a small taste and smiled, "It's great."

"More garlic," he muttered.

"Do you want to talk about baby names?" she asked.

He dropped the spoon and stared at her. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

"We know it's a boy. And he'll have your last name," Danny grinned and picked the spoon up again, "so we have to pick something that sounds good with Messer."

"What were you thinking?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't know for sure yet. I like Matthew, but it doesn't really sound so great when it's Matt Messer."

Danny chuckled. "Guess not. How about Luke?"

Lindsay shook her head. "That was my first boyfriend," she laughed.

"Then definitely no."

"How about Aiden?" Danny looked up. "I mean, I know she's a girl, but she was your friend, and I thought …"

Danny was silent.

"I guess I was wrong. Never mind," she said, looking down at her hands.

"I like it," he said gently. "I do. Aiden Messer? It works. Maybe it could be a middle name, though?"

Lindsay smiled. "OK."

"What about Jack?"

"Jack Aiden Messer? Do you think he'll mind that his initials spell JAM?" she mused.

"He'll get over it," Danny reasoned. He turned off the stove and turned to Lindsay. "Dinner is served," he said.

Lindsay hopped off the table and kissed him on the cheek. "Good. 'Cause I'm starving."

* * *

"Thanks for dinner," she said as she sat back into his chest.

"Yeah, no problem."

She kissed his hand as he brought it to stroke her hair while they watched a movie.

"When do you wanna move in to my place?" Danny asked.

"I don't know," she confessed, "I mean, there's so much stuff to do. Should we set up the baby's room and then slowly move in my stuff?" She turned up to look at him. He kissed her nose.

"Sure." He played with her hair, twirling it in his fingers. "I bought some green paint after I brought you home. It's in the extra room. Look, are you sure you want to live at my new place? We could always look for somewhere together."

"Yes, I'm sure. I like your new place. Plus, it's walking distance from a really good public elementary school."

"You gonna walk the kid every day to his classes?"

"Why not? I biked to school in Montana."

"This isn't Montana," he laughed, "we have muggings here. And guns and violence."

She sighed dramatically. "I can never please you."

"Wanna bet?" he asked, turning her over and kissing her soundly.

She giggled and squirmed under him. Suddenly, she froze and sat up, holding her stomach. Her mouth dropped, her eyes widened.

"Lindsay? Talk to me, tell me what's wrong," Danny said firmly, "Lindsay, honey, what's wrong?"

She grabbed his hand and held it against her stomach, pushing it up her shirt. Danny felt a light flutter beneath his fingertips.

"Holy crap," he said softly.

She turned to him, her eyes watering. "He kicked. Danny he kicked, and he's moving around!" She threw her arms around him and kissed him, then held tightly to him. "Oh my god," she whispered, "oh my god that was the coolest thing ever."

Danny laughed and held her back. He kissed her neck. "Pretty damn cool," he agreed.


	16. Chapter 16

Danny spent four hours interrogating a suspect. He walked out of the room, eyes watering with the effort, and wiped his sweat-speckled brow with the back of his hand.

It took Adam seven minutes to show that the suspect's coat didn't match the fiber found at the scene. He winced at the curses that spewed out of Danny's mouth.

Danny came home to Lindsay's apartment and threw his jacket onto the floor. It smacked with a weak clatter of the zipper hitting the floor. He sent the officer standing at her door on home with a grumpy nod. Running his hand through his hair, he checked her refrigerator for a beer. Finding none, he stomped into the bedroom.

Lindsay was lying in bed, holding a sharpie and humming to herself as she looked down at her exposed stomach.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked hoarsely.

She looked up, surprised, and dropped the sharpie.

"I … uh … singing?"

Danny let his eyes travel to her stomach. Her stomach stared back. Lindsay had drawn two eyes above her protruding belly button and a wide smile underneath it.

Danny gave a snort, which evolved quickly into an all out laugh.

Lindsay glared back at him. "Well, if you'd let me out of the house without an 'escort,' maybe I'd spend my time more wisely."

"You're crazy," Danny retorted through his laughter, and flopped onto the bed next to her. She'd created a sort of nest around herself with the covers. She was at the center of a hurricane of covers and sheets and pillows.

"I can't believe you haven't gotten outta bed yet," he said once he could speak clearly.

"It's only four," she sniffed, giving him a belated kiss on the cheek, "How was work, by the way?"

He groaned. "I don't wanna talk about it." He buried his head in the covers.

"I'm going to shower," she said, rubbing his hair. She rolled out of bed and headed off to the bathroom. "Oh, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow," she called over her shoulder. "And I go back to work the day after!"

Danny groaned again. He did not want Lindsay to leave the apartment. He knew she was bored out of her mind and going incredibly stir-crazy, but he couldn't help wondering if being out in the world with this Evan guy wandering around was worse. He pushed himself up and headed into the kitchen to see if he could figure out dinner.

When Lindsay got out of the shower, he handed her a dress. "Put this on," he told her.

"Danny, I don't think it'll fit."

"No, it will. Stella helped me pick it out. It was gonna be for your birthday, but I think it'll come in handy tonight."

"Why?"

"We're going out. To a restaurant."

She smiled and took the silky blue dress.

* * *

"That was the best salmon I've ever had in my life," Lindsay said once they got into the taxi.

Danny grinned. "Told ya."

She kissed him quickly on the lips and buckled her seatbelt around her protruding middle, deemphasized by the loose dress. "How'd you find out about that place?"

"Mac."

"Oh," she laughed.

About two blocks from the apartment, Lindsay asked if they could walk the rest of the way. Danny was about to say no, but Lindsay had already made the driver stop and was half-way out the door.

Danny quickly paid the driver and hopped out, thanking the man.

"This was not a good idea," Danny grumbled. He helped Lindsay button her coat against the cold and curled his hand around hers. "It's not safe."

"I have you," Lindsay reasoned, "and we're two blocks from my apartment. Now relax."

He sighed and willed himself to forget about Evan. He smiled at her and pulled her close.

Lindsay smiled back and breathed in the cold air, looking around her as she walked. She placed a hand on her stomach and rested her head on Danny's arm.

When they got back to the apartment, Lindsay threw her arms around Danny and kissed him. "Thanks," she said, "I needed that."

She headed into the kitchen and opened the freezer. She pulled out some ice cream and got some peanuts to top it with.

"Is it OK if we talk about something you don't wanna talk about?" Danny asked nervously.

Lindsay looked up at him mid-scoop. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "I guess so. It kind of depends."

"Evan."

She slowly scooped out a spoonful of ice cream and put it into her bowl. "I … yes, we can talk about him."

"Can you just tell me about him? I mean, what he's like. He skipped bail, ya know, and I wanna get a feel for him. Maybe we can find him quicker if you remember some stuff."

Lindsay ate a spoonful of double chocolate chip ice cream and thought for a moment.

"Start with basics. Does he have anybody in Montana? Family? Friends? Pets?"

"No pets. I had a dog, but Evan … Evan killed him."

"He what? Why?"

"Thor – my dog – was really loud at night. He barked all the time. One night, Evan thought I was asleep, and there was this huge commotion outside. It must've been raccoons or something, but whatever it was, it made Thor go crazy. He was barking up a storm. So Evan rolled out of bed, really carefully, and took his shotgun. I didn't register what he was doing. I thought he was going to scare off the raccoons. He went outside and … I just heard this bang and then a yelp. I knew what Evan had done. I didn't say anything to him; I was too shocked."

Danny sat with his chin in his hands, brow furrowed. "He killed your dog?"

"I couldn't find Thor the next day. Evan told me he ran off. But I knew. There was blood on the ground the next day."

"I'm sorry, Linds."

"I'm over him. I've worked hard at it, Danny. I'm still a little scared, but I've recovered from it." She smiled. "Two years in therapy will do that for you."

"So he's impulsive, violent …"

"He's stupid, too."

Danny laughed.

"No, really! He'll show up exactly where you'd expect him to –"

A knock at the door interrupted her speech. Lindsay reasoned that 'knock' was a slight bit euphemistic for the sort of clamor at her door. It was a resounding slam that echoed through her apartment. She looked at Danny and gave a small smile. She turned and headed for the front door when Danny caught her arm.

"It could be him."

"Yes, it could. But it could be someone else. And this is my apartment."

"Yeah. Let me answer it."

"Danny, don't be ridicu-"

"Please? Just humor me. Go into the bedroom and call Flack, alright? And close the door, will ya?"

She gave him a look but went anyways, shuffling her feet.

Danny opened the door to find Evan leaning on the wall.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Evan asked.

"Same goes for you," Danny shot back. "You skipped bail. You're under arrest." He took a step forwards. Evan took one back.

Danny reached out, flipped him around, and shoved him against the wall. Evan grunted in surprise.

Danny turned his head at a sound behind him and saw Lindsay standing in the doorframe. "Linds –"

"I called Flack. He'll be here in a minute."

"You should –"

"Evan, we're not together," she said firmly. "And you need to understand that."

"You left me. But I can forgive you for that. You cheated on me. I can forgive that, too."

"I didn't cheat on you. And I don't want 'forgiveness' for leaving you. You were abusive and cruel to me. You killed …" she swallowed and set her face, "you killed my baby. And I left because you weren't going to let me go."

"Of course I wouldn't. I love you."

"Evan, that's not the point," she sighed. She took a step closer. "I wanted to leave you. I had to leave you."

Evan blinked and choked out, "We can try again. We can. I'll take you back. I'll raise a kid with you – this one will be different."

"Evan, I –"

"We'll have another baby. You don't have to have this one. Just get rid of this one and we'll start aga-"

Danny slammed Evan against the wall and twisted his arm back. "Don't talk about my kid that way," he hissed in Evan's ear.

Evan looked at her, turning his head through Danny's painful hold. "C'mon, Lindsay. Please."

"No, Evan."

Evan went limp in Danny's hold. He let out a wounded whimper.

Danny turned his head to speak to Lindsay when Evan whipped around in the relaxed hold and punched Danny in the face. Danny stepped back in surprise.

Evan launched at Lindsay. Danny moved to stop him but Lindsay was quicker. She sidestepped him and tripped him. He fell to the ground. He moved to get up and get at her but she kicked him in the stomach.

Evan groaned and clutched his mid-section. Lindsay kicked him over onto his back and kneeled down next to him. She put a knee on his chest. "Don't ever come near me or my child again."

She backed off and let Danny take over.

He heaved Evan up and socked him. "You good, Linds?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Alright then. Get inside. I'll work with this guy."

She smiled and went in the apartment.

"Shut the door," Danny called.

She locked it behind her. Danny grinned at Evan. "So tell me – whatcha think you're doin' here?"

"I missed her."

"Well you ain't gonna see her again. Ever. And if you make one more snappy little remark about my kid, I'll kill you."

* * *

When Flack came jogging out of the stairwell, Danny was already frog-marching a severely wounded Evan to the exit.

"He OK?" Flack asked, grinning as he saw the blood running from Evan's nose and the gash above his forehead.

"He's good," Danny shrugged, and handed him over.

"Long time no see, Watts," Flack said happily as he cuffed Evan. "I'll take this guy to the station. You two should get some rest."

Danny nodded and headed inside.


End file.
